#b 43

[batbaffle]

oh hey they had dick reference that poem again. he must really like it

thats a really good poem choice for robin

[usaac-official]

Ace O' Spades, 43rd Bomb Group

[deadpresidents]

What's been your favorite Oval Office layout?

I liked President Clinton's Oval Office because I feel like the colors really popped out at you, especially with the blue carpet:

Clinton's Oval Office also kind of reminds me of the Bartlet Oval Office in The West Wing, although the Oval Office in The West Wing was always super dark for some reason. I know some readers are going to be surprised that I didn't choose LBJ because LBJ is always my answer when it comes to favorites, but the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s decorations weren't great. It is funny, however, to see the giant TVs -- one for each of the three television networks at the time -- that LBJ had in his Oval Office because he was such an information junkie (LBJ also had a teletype machine installed in the Oval Office so he could get news reports immediately):

I also really liked George W. Bush's Oval Office, but it would have been better with a bit more color. My favorite color is blue, so I would definitely have wanted to see more blue in Bush's Oval. But I do like the rug that President Bush used, which was also used by President Reagan.

For those who are interested, it looks like the awesome White House Museum website, which disappeared for a while, is now being hosted here. You can see photos of how the Oval Office was decorated for various Presidents ever since the West Wing was built.

Also, here's a great photo of a completely empty Oval Office (stripped of everything, including carpets) as it was being cleaned during the transition between Presidents on Inauguration Day:

[ludinusdaleth]

i do not remotely mean this as in insult to the bells, but to me, even before c3 began, i knew it was never going to be a story that would survive on or deserved to be about one party. critical role would have gone stale if it went on much longer as it was, with just its og cast, and you could feel it brimming with understanding of massive events - changes of reality & its own fictional world - on the horizon. i know the concept of a "crossover" story with a staggering number of central characters is inherently risky, but i genuinely think one of c3's biggest strengths is just that.

avalir needed to be presented during c3's runtime, a precursor to past calamity as exandria entered a new one; aeors story needed to be told in this campaign, the apex of mortality's fall in the past as the war for ruidis began to fever pitch in the now; the bells hells needed "guest" stars that truly became their own party members, more than just the og white cast, so many people surviving as nobodies in apocalypse beyond those you expected to take up the call; the crown keepers needed to parralel the bells (hell, they are the bells), infinite parties thrown to slaughter by war when all they wanted was friendship, with hope still deep within them to return to each other; the mighty nein & vox machina & their cohorts needed to push & bear witness to the bells, analyze their own dynamics with power and what it means to be a hero/leader in a time where that isnt clear cut and comes at severe cost not measured in these ways in their campaigns; and most importantly the bells needed - and as of recently chose - to be thrust into being heralds of history. their story was built on heartbreak of being crushed under the boot of other's hero journeys (the story emphasizing that while they got caught in fate, they arent alone in that fate of being "unimportant"), and so it is in the campaigns lifeblood to provide them the chance to look at the tapestry in a way no other can, to bear the tragedy of being the sacrificial lamb and deciding what sacrifices of the world & themselves to make in turn, especially in a campaign that is blatantly asking the question of what is worth it to be in an imperialisically-designed fantasy universe where thousands are not seen as important to the pov of the hero.

[lonestarflight]

Douglas XB-43 Jetmaster (S/N 44-61508) and a Northrop XB-49 Flying Wing parked at an airfield.

Posted on Flickr by Robert Sullivan: link

[a41-i-finally-caved]

“I’m a piece of shit," JJ bursts. "Don’t you get that? I’m a piece of shit!”

“Bullshit,” John B says.

Kie frowns. “J, you’re not—”

“Shut up! Don’t you get it? I put a gun to my dad’s head and if it would’ve stopped shaking a second, I’d have blown his goddamn brains out.” He’s panting, sick, sweating, he’s gonna puke. “That’s sick, man, sick! Not good or payback or justice; just fucked.”

They don’t get it. JJ looks wildly from one face to another, and he knows they don’t. They don’t see it. How can they not see it? He—

“I love you guys so goddamn much, you don’t even know. And I 'ppreciate what all you’ve done for me, but none of that means shit.” The words come out like gross and spewing like vomit. His voice cracks. It’s pathetic. It hurts.

“JJ—”

“’Cause I love my fucking dad, but I just tried to put a bullet in his skull,” JJ steamrolls… whoever that was. He can’t tell. Can’t see shit, keeps blurring. He’s gasping. “Who does that, huh? What kind of piece of fucking shit does that?” He’s crying, he realizes, fucking crying like a pussy in front of all of them. “My dad, my whole life—it’s the fucking birds before the shark, guys.” They still don’t get it. Why don’t they—

“It doesn’t matter what I do wrong, what I do right, the fucking shit’s still coming. I tried, okay? I tried.” He can’t get the words out fast enough, can’t get the air in, can’t make them—

“And doesn’t matter—it never matters! I don’t fucking mat—” He chokes on it.

“Why can’t you see that?”

[happywebdesign]

Mitchell Eaton Image Making

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

[allymv5]

Todd is an alien 😼😼😼😼👽👽🛸

[usafphantom-2]

Nakajima Ki-43 Hayabusa from 54th Sentai with damaged landing gear flies past a formation of North American B-25 Mitchell bombers during a raid on the Kurile Islands. Nov 6, 1944.

@ron_eisele via X

[koushirouizumi]

{D I G I M O N} Adventure/tri {+2020 as AUs} ~ Short Clip Preview x "MY Kind of 'Perfect" {+Aspec!}/{Demi-pan!} Koushiro {Asexual spectrum and/or - Demiromantic Pansexual (Full Main Canon) {+Tri}; - or Panromantic Demisexual (many of my Spinoff A.U.s); - or AlloAro-spec, Demi-pansexual!Koushiro [Allosexual Aromantic]} [either way, its a DemiPan-involved Identity/Headcanon] x (Queer!/MLM!) Taichi (M-spec, Multi Gender Attracted spectrum) {KouTai}; Koushiro{u} Izumi x Taichi Yagami (Bonus appearance of Tri!Jou Kido); {Ketsui Spoilers} Music (C) David Archuleta + Jive Records D I G I M O N (C) Toei Animation NO $$$ is being made off this Fanwork

by Me/@hikari-m/@izzyizumi {DO NOT RE-POST} {DO NOT COPY} {DO NOT RE-PRODUCE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES}

{Please read banner BEFORE Interacting}

[usaac-official]

A B-50D of the 43rd Bomb Wing in flight over an airfield in England, May 1953

[oopsallmabari]

ouaaaagh it's been ten million years of plodding away at rewrite but i am 10 chapters away from being caught up with the last chapter i posted nd less than 15 away from the rewrite overtaking the original wip we are so back (half-joking)

[usafphantom2]

B-25D Mitchell 43-3318 by David ilott Via Flickr: Fighter Collection's B-25D Mitchell 43-3318/G-BYDR painted as KL161/VO "Grumpy" at Old Warden in August 1990.

[lonestarflight]

Douglas XB-43 Jetmaster in flight.

source

[welcometogrouchland]

also it is a good thing that i have like. a designated list of comfort/depression movies and tv shows that i can whip out after the toh finale.